The Void
by Miss Shannon
Summary: There was no memory that felt recent and no emotion that didn't feel like a memory - Andy Flynn loses himself and finds something he doesn't remember.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

It was chilly outside and he could feel the moisture in the air, taste the rain on his lips even though it must have fallen hours ago. The cold was creeping up his legs, spreading across his back and sliding down his shoulders onto his chest like hands in a clammy embrace. His vision was blurred, the well-kept gardens of the suburban road just a stretch of dark surfaces with the odd, glittering rectangular of a lit window here and there. It was quiet except for police sirens somewhere a few streets down. It had to be late.

He was limping, he noticed, dragging one foot to avoid the pain shooting up his leg whenever he put his weight on it. There was a sticky substance smeared acros his temple that he suspected was blood.

Andy Flynn didn't know how many drinks he had had or what they had been. His mind was too foggy for him to recall a single memory beyond dragging himself along this road to go home. He was oddly grateful for having such vast experience with being too drunk to do anymore than barely function, with suddenly snapping out of a drunken stupor somewhere and to finding his way home, because he knew that he would always find his way back to his house somehow.

And there it was, sitting at the corner of two streets with its slightly lopsided mail box that he had never fixed. First, when Carol had just moved out with the kids, it had reminded him of his son who had kicked his soccer ball against it, thus giving it its shaken appearance. He hadn't had the heart to repair the damn thing as it had served as a reminder of those times when his life had still been full. After a while he had simply gotten used to it. On a normal day, he didn't even see it anymore and he wasn't sure why it occurred to him today of all days.

Andy knew nothing much at all, he had to admit to himself.

He had been sober for such a long time, he thought as his thoughts began to become a little clearer. What on earth had made him drink? How much had he had? He tried to retrieve a memory, any memory of the evening, but he drew a blank. Suddenly desperate, he decided to try an old technique that had often grounded him after a night of excessive drinking that had inevitably ended in a major blackout.

 _What is the last thing you remember?_

Panic began to grip him upon the realization that he didn't even know that. He was aware of the general, he suddenly understood, but of none of the specifics. There was no memory that felt recent and no emotion that didn't feel like a memory.

Maybe he was still too drunk to think straight, he tried to comfort himself. Maybe this was normal. Maybe he wouldn't even remember feeling like this in the morning. Maybe he had always been this confused during his drunken exploits; maybe he just didn't remember it. That had to be it. Relief flooded him, though only gradually. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Time trickled where it was supposed to flow.

He stumbled up the path to his front door, almost tripping over a toy car. Damn boy next door. His things always ended up on his front lawn somehow. It took him several attempts to get the key to fit into the look, but then it turned smoothly. He almost laughed at the idea that it turned a lot more smoothly than usual tonight of all nights when he was just a clumsy drunken bastard. He felt so ashamed for drinking again, but somehow this state of drunkenness was different. Sharper, more painful. All the edges were so hard as the world was coming into focus again around him.

He had a terrible headache and he suspected that he could feel every single one of his bones. Somehow he had injured himself, but his vision had cleared and he didn't feel sick. Even the stale taste of alcohol and decay was absent from his mouth. Maybe he hadn't had that much, he tried to reconcile the strange sensations. Maybe, after over a decade of being sober, he had had one drink and it had gone straight to his head.

Andy walked through his front door and felt his body protest even the slight exertion that it took him to hold it open enough to walk through. He would deal with his injuries in the morning, he decided. He was of no use to himself in this state. All he needed was his bed. Andy swore when he banged his already aching knee into a table in the hallway that he had no recollection of putting there. In his memory, it was a good six feet further down the hall. Probably the damn cleaning lady again.

He huffed and felt for the light switch, then winced when it came on before he had a chance to find it. His eyes hurt with the sudden brightness and he squeezed them shut, half-heartedly shielding his face from the light.

There was someone in his house, he understood. His brain was working very slowly, but at least it was working at all. But who would be inside his home in the middle of the night? Had he made a drunken call? He could feel shame rising like bile in this throat. He was a disgrace.

"Andy?" The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but something inside him insisted that this was not its usual tone. Too soft, he thought, but discarded the thought again immediately.

A woman.

Had he picked up a woman at a bar and taken her home? Had he then taken a drunken stroll around the neighborhood just to forget that she had ever been there? God knew, he had woken up next to a few women whose names he hadn't been able to recall back in the day.

He carefully lowered his hand to allow his eyes to adjust to the bright lights. When they had, however, he wished that they hadn't. Halfway down the stairs was no one other than the Wicked Witch herself.

What in God's name was Captain Sharon Raydor doing inside his home? How badly had he screwed up to find FID waiting for him upon his return? And why her of all people? Didn't she usually send out her minions these days? All he wanted to do was sleep.

She wasn't wearing her glasses, which was odd. He hadn't seen her without her glasses since the eighties, the old bat. A giggle made its way up his throat at the thought. He had known her for twenty-five years and had despised her for the best part of them.

"What the fuck," he groaned, too exhausted even to craft a more elaborate insult. He usually managed to flirt with her a little in a way that you only can flirt with someone you have no particular regard for, but he wasn't even capable of that right now.

To his great surprise, she wasn't carrying her little notebook nor was she wearing her arrogant little smirk that usually told him that he was doomed. It was that smirk that heralded punishment for his shortcomings and he had grown to hate it. Why did she have to be here in his darkest hour? Now that she was standing right in front of him, he could tell that she was also not wearing work clothes. She was in yoga pants and a sweater, her feet bare.

A wave of pure rage swept over Andy, aided along by his inability to apply simple logic to any scenario he was presented with. Anger was all he could feel. Anger at himself for drinking again, anger at the universe for having him find himself in this situation, but most of all, anger at Sharon Fucking Raydor having the cheek to show up at his place and make herself at home and most of all for looking concerned.

He knew that he was a despicable human being. He didn't need it spelled out for him. He didn't need her pity.

"Get the fuck out of my house, do you hear me?" He wanted to yell at her, but his voice wouldn't collaborate. It sounded husky. Weak. And it made him even more angry.

"Andy, it's me," she said softly, a note of despair in her tone.

"I know damn well who you are. If you are here to lecture me about whatever it is I have done again, save your fucking breath and come back tomorrow."

When she reached out for his arm, he shrugged her off with vigor.

"Get out of here!" Now his voice had gained some momentum and he winced at how loud it suddenly was.

The Captain's eyes darted towards the stairs which he found even more infuriating.

"Go or I swear I'll make you regret it!" he threatened her, well-aware that he was in no condition to be an actual threat to anyone. And as angry as he was, he wasn't stupid enough to hurt a superior officer. And a woman, no less, because as annoying as she was, she was still very much a woman.

She looked hurt, which he found a little ridiculous given their relationship. There was really no need to bite back tears, to look this devastated.

"Andy, something is wrong with you. At least let me call a doctor!" she begged him.

Andy couldn't take it anymore. With a step that had been supposed to be swift but ended up being more of a stumble, he stepped back and opened the front door.

"Out," he growled.

She raised both hands in a display of the easy diplomacy she was known for whenever she wasn't trying to rile up the rest of the department. Or maybe she was trying to talk him down. To give the wild animal a sense of security however false it may be.

"Okay," she said. "I'll leave in a minute. I'll be right back."

Before he realized what she was doing, she was halfway up the stairs and he was too tired to go after her. It felt as if his spine was twisted; he could hardly stand anymore and his head was pounding more forcefully than before. It felt as if his forehead was going to split in two, so he closed his eyes for a moment enjoying the soothing darkness.

When he opened them again, he was sure that he was hallucinating.

Raydor was descending the stairs carefully, a bag over her shoulder and a bundle of blankets in her arms, gently cradled to her chest.

A huge bundle that was moving.

A bundle that was making unhappy sounds.

He narrowed his eyes to sharpen his vision.

There was a little boy in her arms, clinging to her and at the verge of tears. Andy felt his temper deflate. Since when did Raydor have a kid that young? And what the heck was she doing inside his house with it?

The kid was maybe two, probably a little older, wearing pajamas adorned with airplanes. Andy didn't have the heart to yell at her again when she walked past him through the door and into the night. The kid, at least, wasn't at fault for being here with her. There was no need to disturb it any further.

She said his name again when she stood outside in the driveway, the little boy already half-asleep again, his head on her shoulder.

"I called an ambulance for you. You must have been in an accident."

He wanted to yell at her that he didn't need a doctor. He was just drunk. Absolutely shit-faced, judging from the awful headache. But then her words began to sink in. He couldn't detect a trace of alcohol on his tongue or breath, nor was there the sour taste that heralded an impending hangover. He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. Upon closer inspection, there was a bump on the back of his head that explained the headache.

He had just assumed that he had fallen off the wagon, but what if he hadn't? What if she was right and he was hurt?

But if he was, then why on earth couldn't he remember anything helpful?

Why couldn't he remember anything at all?

"Andy? Andy!" Her voice sounded far away and then faded as he gave himself over to the velvet darkness that was closing in on him.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

 **A/N:** _Thank you so much for your overwhelming response to this story. My muse has returned to me and I am so very grateful. I always love hearing what people think and all those reviews made my day! My job keeps me busy, but I will try to update as frequently as I can._

The first thing he heard when he came to was the insistent whining of a very upset child, underlain by the soft, unmistakable tones of a mother trying to calm it. He kept his eyes closed to hold the terrible headache at bay, but the piercing cries cut through him like the lashings of a whip. He realized only now that the kid wasn't disgruntled or annoyed; it was scared. He listened more closely to the mother's voice and could barely make out what she was murmuring: She was telling her little boy that Daddy would be fine. The words brought it all back to him and his eyes flew open, the lights too bright for him to suppress a groan.

"Welcome back, Sir." He did his best to focus on the EMT standing over him. He was an attractive guy in his forties, blonde hair ruffled and blue eyes alert. His boyish looks didn't seem to go with the web of fine lines around his eyes. Over his shoulder, he could see the Wicked Witch looking everything but wicked or like a witch with her baby in her arms. The little boy had stopped crying and was looking at Andy, his chubby cheeks red and still wet from the tears that had just fallen, but his eyes were bright and observant. They were the same shade of green as Raydor's, he realized even though he didn't remember having ever consciously thought about her eye color before. Raydor sank into an armchair and kissed the child's hairline as she adjusted him in her lap so he could look at Andy. Andy watched her caress the toddler's head, running her hand over it again and again in a steady, soothing motion. The boy visibly calmed down and his eyes were beginning to droop in one of those sudden bouts of sleepiness that were unique to small children. The tension in his body evaporated and he leaned back against his mother's chest, snuggling into her. Andy's memories were still so fuzzy and he really had no idea how he could have missed the gossip that must have come along with the Wicked Witch being knocked-up, but he knew without a doubt that the boy had to be hers. They looked alike and it was clear from the way they were with each other that they were mother and child. There was something else that seemed familiar in the boy, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The EMT signaled for his attention and helped him sit up on the couch.

"My name is Steve. Do you know where you are?"

Andy nodded and regretted it immediately as his head started throbbing. "Home," he croaked.

The EMT seemed satisfied with his answer. "Do you have any trouble with your eyesight?"

"No," Andy said after a short moment of consideration. "But I have a killer headache."

Steve nodded. "I can imagine. You have quite the bump on the back of your head. I am no forensic expert, but it looks like someone beat you up pretty good. Now, your wife here said that you seemed confused right before you passed out."

Andy rolled his eyes and even that hurt. "Look, buddy, she is not my wife. She is a person from work, not to mention an annoying pain in the ass and I have no idea what she is doing at my place in the middle of the night with some kid I didn't even know she had."

When he looked over at Raydor for some explanation on why the hell she had made the EMT believe that she was his wife or why she was even there in the first place, he found that she was not looking at him. Purposefully so, he was sure. Instead she was looking down at the kid who was now drifting off to sleep. The boy was curled up against her chest and she had one of her hands over his ear. It took Andy a moment, but then he understood that she was making sure he couldn't hear what was being said. The realization made him oddly furious. What was she trying to convey? That she didn't want her kid subjected to the likes of him and to what he had to say? Then why bring it in the first place? Didn't she have a husband or a boyfriend to watch the kid while she was working? Probably not, he thought spitefully. After all, he couldn't imagine a guy being able to stand being around her for any prolonged amount of time. Even if he had been ballsy enough at some point to have knocked her up.

The EMT looked over at the Captain and then back to Andy. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. It was softer somehow, more modulated. He was speaking more slowly, too. The way you would speak to a mentally ill patient, Andy realized. He himself had used that exact tone a hundred times to talk down deranged suspects. But he wasn't deranged, was he? He probably wasn't even drunk.

"Can you tell me who the current president is?" Steve asked.

Andy groaned and rolled his eyes. What did that guy think he was? A fucking imbecile?

"It's George W. Bush, idiot. I have been mugged, but I am not confused, okay?"

He froze when he saw the look in the other man's eyes and for the first time, he began to worry. Panic began to grip him at the sight of Steve's eyebrows that shot up involuntarily. He figured that it wasn't often that the answer to that question caused any surprises.

"What?" he demanded, the urgency in his voice not due to anger but to sheer panic this time.

"Ever heard of Barack Obama?" Steve asked carefully.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Andy replied stubbornly. "Now get out of my house. I'm fine. And you, take your kid and get out of my house as well."

"What is the year, Andrew?" Steve prodded gently. Andy frowned at the tone as well as at the use of his full name, then his mouth went dry.

He wasn't sure what the year was.

This was not a question you usually had to think about before you answered, yet he couldn't form a clear answer in his head. 2005? 2006? 2008?

"What are you implying?" Despite the throbbing pain behind his forehead, Andy tried to get to his feet. "I'm going for a walk and when I get back, I want you out of here. This is my property. As of right now, you are trespassing - both of you - are we clear?"

Steve seemed too calm for Andy's liking as he pulled out his phone. "It is 2015, Andrew, and you're going in for a CT-scan."

It was as if the air was being knocked out of Andy and he fell back into the cushions like a giant rag doll, staring at Steve in dumbfounded silence.

"Are you kidding?" he croaked, but Steve shook his head then walked off to the side in order to be out of Andy's earshot. For the first time, Andy looked around the room and the cold hand that seemed to have closed around his heart squeezed it even harder.

This was definitely his living-room and yet it wasn't. He recognized the set of shelves that lined the other wall and the old armchair, but the couch was new and he had never seen those paintings before. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out what was on the table next to the armchair. The Wicked Witch followed his gaze but didn't say a thing. She looked drained, almost frightened and didn't make a move to stop him, when he struggled to his feet.

With an agonizing slowness that reminded him of his old grandfather, Andy limped over to the table and knocked the framed picture over before he got a hold of it and was able to lift it up for his inspection. He felt faint at the sight that awaited him. Much worse even than he had felt when he had realized that he had no idea what the year was or who the heck that Obama guy was supposed to be. In the picture he saw himself in some sort of garden on a bright, sunny day. He was wearing a dark suit and a happy smile. But what shocked him most was who the other person in the photo was. There she was, her long hair in soft curls glowing golden in the sunlight, her smile matching his and wearing a simple white sleeveless dress was Captain Sharon Raydor, leaning into his side, her hand over his heart, fingers intertwined with his where two matching golden rings caught the rays of the sun.

He whirled around when he felt a hand on his arm. His whole body was shaking and he felt cold even though his face was burning red hot. He turned to Raydor and found so much pain etched into the lines around her eyes that he almost recoiled. She had left her toddler in the armchair, curled up and fast asleep. Gently, she pried the picture from Andy's hands that he hadn't realized were clenched around the frame and set it back down on the table.

"Andy, something is not right with you," she said slowly, her voice carefully modulated and yet not far from its breaking point. "This is our wedding picture. We were married three years ago."

Andy couldn't stop shaking. He was both panicked and repulsed. While he was beginning to accept the fact that he had somehow lost a good chunk of his most recent memory, he was far from being able to come to terms with the fact that somehow during this time, he had married the Wicked Witch. The one woman who he had hated with pleasure along with the rest of the department for the best part of his career. His eyes drifted to the kid and back to her.

"Who is that?" he asked, his voice husky. Somehow he was still hoping that this was just one big joke or that at least the kid was not part of it. The Captain turned and leaned on the armchair. The fight seemed to have gone out of her at his words. She looked as if she was in actual physical pain.

"That's Patrick Flynn," she said so quietly that he almost couldn't understand her. "I couldn't quite carry him to term, so he was very small when he was born. That's why we have always called him Paddy."

Andy stared at the kid. There was no doubt. He could see now what had seemed so familiar in the little boy before. His eyes were green and his complexion was pale, but his features were those of the Flynn family. In his mind's eye, Andy saw old pictures of himself at that age, saw his other son when he had been a toddler. He didn't understand how he had missed it earlier, how he could have ever not have known.

The boy was his son.

His head was throbbing worse and for a moment, he saw stars. Steve was back, holding on to his arm, asking him to lay down on the stretcher, but he refused, trying to shake him off. This was simply not possible. Maybe he was drunk after all. Maybe it was just a terrible nightmare that he would laugh off as soon as he woke up.

But he didn't wake up. He allowed Steve to help him sit back down on the couch, accepted the glass of water and let his words flow over him without paying any attention to them.

He had a son with the Wicked Witch. He was married to her.

Maybe he did need that CT-scan after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

They had run every damn medical test in the whole universe on him. They had drawn blood, x-rayed every part of his body, ordered CT-scans and MRTs and whatnot and Andy really wasn't sure whether he had been awake for all of it, but when they offered him to go home, he jumped at the chance. They didn't have all of the test results back yet, but from what it looked like, the doctor said solemnly, he had a concussion from being hit over the head with a blunt object.

Thank you very much, Andy told them, he would have been able to guess that himself without being poked and prodded by medical staff for hours. At least one thing they told him provided some relief: There was no trace of alcohol in his system. Whatever had happened to him out there, he had not fallen off the wagon. He left with the number of a psychiatrist in his pocket, a prescription for the headache and strict orders not to exert himself and to come back the next day for a check-up.

Like hell he would.

The sight that greeted him when he walked through the double doors towards the waiting area felt like even more of a betrayal than the Wicked Witch having taken up residence in his house. There she was again, now in jeans, a white top and a large, warm wraparound sweater, leaning into no one other than Lieutenant Louie Provenza himself. He had his arm around her shoulders and was talking to her in what Andy could tell from the look on his face had to be rather soft tones. The scene playing out in front of him seemed surreal. These two weren't supposed to get along.

When he approached, still limping and kept awake only by the remainder of the earlier bursts of adrenaline in his system, Raydor looked up and got to her feet immediately. In a gesture that was so quick that it seemed almost hectic, she wiped what appeared to be a tear from her eye. Great, now she was getting sentimental on him. She looked smaller without her power suits, he realized, and shorter, too, wearing only a pair of UGG boots that somehow looked odd on her. Her posture was that of a woman in mourning. He recognized the way she hugged herself from the widows of murder victims, found the haunted look in her eyes more familiar than anything else about her.

"Andy, how are you doing?"

It felt strange for her to address him by his first name. Like a violation, but strangely comforting at the same time. Suddenly feeling defensive, he shrugged.

"Bad concussion," he said lightly, focusing on Provenza to pretend that she wasn't here.

"So you really don't remember anything?" Provenza asked. New lines had appeared around his eyes and he looked like the old man that he was. The discovery made Andy's heart feel heavy in his chest with dread and with longing for what he now understood was long lost.

"Lost almost a decade of my life to a big black void, you know. They can't tell how. Just gave me a lot of that shit about the brain being a complicated thing."

Provenza huffed and the familiar display of annoyance made Andy relax a bit. Even though his best friend had become chummy with the Wicked Witch, at least she had not managed to turn him into one of her flying monkeys just yet.

"Did they say whether the memories are going to come back any time soon?" Provenza asked and Andy shrugged again. It seemed like the only appropriate response nowadays that he was a stranger in his own life, the audience to a twisted play he didn't know the script to.

"Psychiatrist is supposed to figure that out." He pulled the business card they had given him from his pocket and crushed it in his fist. The sound of the paper crumbling sounded good. Empowering. "I have no idea what good that is supposed to do, though."

A flash of something he couldn't quite identify appeared on Provenza's face, but before he could get a closer look, it had already gone.

"Why are you being such an asshole?" the old man snarled. Andy was very close to just shrugging like a sullen teenager in response again, but then hesitated.

Why was he being so antagonistic? Before he had a chance to admit that he was scared out of his mind and that being like this was the only thing that held him together, there was a squeal at the end of the hallway from where hurried footsteps approached them. The look in Raydor's eyes told him everything he needed to know, but he turned around anyway, watching Paddy Flynn approach them with small, eager steps that forced the woman he was with to start chasing after him. She was an attractive African American woman around Provenza's age with kind eyes and an air of calm authority.

"Daddy!"

It had been a long time since he had been called that. Nicole and David called him Dad whenever they could be bothered to talk to him. Daddy was for little kids like Paddy. His eyes were wide and happy and he stretched out his arms, ready to be scooped up and cuddled. For a second, Andy wanted to do just that, hold on to the warm little body and give himself to the illusion that he actually knew and loved the kid. It was just too hard to resist a child. He missed that with Nicole and David. He hadn't hugged either of them in a long time.

The kid came closer, but Andy turned away. He didn't know this child and the longer he looked at the boy, the more of Captain Raydor he saw in him. The fair skin, the green eyes, something about the way he carried himself. It was downright spooky.

"Hey, Paddy. Did you have a nice time with Auntie Patrice?" Raydor picked the boy up and settled him on her hip. He was squirming and full of energy, probably eager to explore the unfamiliar surroundings, but she held on to him anyway, almost looking a little desperate.

"Nice time!" Paddy agreed enthusiastically. His fist wound itself into the Captain's long hair and he placed his head against her shoulder. "We had ice-cream, Mommy."

"Did you say thank you to Auntie Patrice?" Raydor asked him and he nodded vigorously.

"He did indeed," the woman named Patrice confirmed. She had a warm voice like good scotch and almost as comforting. God, how he longed for a drink to numb the anxiety that was nagging away at him. "He was being very polite, Sharon, but I think he's getting tired. It's almost afternoon and from what I hear he didn't get a good night's sleep."

For the time being, the boy was distracted by his mother's loving touches and kisses, but Andy knew that sooner or later he would have to deal with him in some measure. With his head pounding the way it was, he preferred it to be later rather than sooner. The thought of his bed seemed like the most appealing thing right now. Maybe a good few hours of sleep would sort all this out. Even though he knew that it probably wouldn't, it was all he could do. There weren't exactly plans to be made if you were traipsing around your own life like a confused time-traveller.

"Well, guys," he announced. "I'm going home to sleep this off."

He consciously avoided the Captain's eyes. "See you later." He turned around to leave, his mind on hailing a cab and going straight home, when he heard Provenza clear his throat behind him. He turned around wearily and found the three of them looking back at him, the kid playing with the Captain's hair contently and examining the silver chair she was wearing around her neck.

"What?" he asked. "I have the headache of the century, Provenza."

Provenza gestured towards the Captain and her son. "They live with you, Flynn. And they are tired, too."

Andy looked over at Raydor and back to Provenza.

"You can't be serious. You might have fallen prey to whatever spell Darth Raydor put on you, but as far as I am concerned, she is our nemesis. You can't expect me to take them home with me!"

"It's their home, too," Patrice said softly. "I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to find yourself in these circumstances but Sharon is your wife and your house is hers and Paddy's home, too."

Andy was sure that the kid had no idea what was going on, but he was clearly beginning to react to the hostile atmosphere, his face becoming tense with impending tears. He looked from him to Raydor who was a second too late in schooling her features.

"I am sure we can sort this out," she said, sounding anything but sure.

"And how?" Andy asked her heatedly. "Are you going to go over the past god knows how many years with me? Tell me everything that happened hoping that it'll trigger my memory so we can live happily ever after?"

Maybe it was the headache that made him act like such a bastard. Or maybe it was the mere idea that he was supposed to be married to Raydor. She wasn't unattractive, he'd never believed that, but literally being in bed with Internal Affairs? He couldn't imagine that in his wildest dreams.

"I'll try and be ahead of you, pack a few bags," Raydor said, her mouth set in a straight line. She now seemed annoyed with him and he could feel himself relax. This was more like it. Normal.

Raydor thanked Provenza and Patrice for their help and hurried down the hallway, but her steps looked slow and heavy, as if she was carrying more weight than that of her toddler. Andy snorted despite himself.

"Hey, asshole. I know you don't remember being Sharon's husband, but there is no reason to be such a jackass."

Andy turned around at Provenza's words and stared at his best friend.

"You teaming up with her now?"

For a moment Provenza looked as if he was about to deck him. Patrice stepped closer to him and placed her hand on his biceps. There was something about the way these two interacted with each other that made Andy stop short.

"Did you find yourself wife number 5?" he snarled and was shocked by the venom in his voice.

Patrice rolled her eyes. "Look, Andy. I know you're not yourself right now. We'll drop you off at home, okay?"

Something inside Andy snapped. Having no idea what had been going on for the past few years, not having known who the president was until a few hours ago, for crying out loud, scared him and when he was scared, he got angry. He was already tired of people taking shit from him because he was a cripple, even if his body would heal. His mind had taken a hit and so they treated him like a terminally ill patient. Lashing out at them, he understood even in his furious stupor, helped him feel more in control of a situation that was so far beyond his control that it hurt to think about it.

"To hell with it. I'm taking a cab!" And with that, he walked off.

/

Home still smelled like home, Andy realized with relief when he walked through the door. Out here, things had been changed as well. The wooden stairs had undergone some serious renovation and the walls were a different color. There was a potted plant in the corner that looked alive, so Raydor was obviously the one caring for it. Driven only by the need to lie down and finally be able to sleep, he stumbled up the stairs, clinging to the banister all the way up. Exhaustion was like a tangible weight, trying to drag him down. Raydor and the kid were probably long gone. Getting a taxi near a hospital at this hour of day had proved tricky and then he had been stuck in traffic for what seemed like ages because the dumb driver had chosen the wrong way.

When he had finally managed to drag his aching body all the way upstairs, he froze in his tracks. Things looked different up here, too. Definitely not worse, yet so different. The bedroom was straight ahead, but despite his exhaustion, he found himself drawn to what had once been the guest room. That kid definitely loved airplanes. There was an intricate model hanging from the ceiling, safely out of reach when it came to little hands, and a few other, more kid-friendly toys were placed on the shelves. Like the boy's pajamas, the sheets were adorned with airplanes, too and there, on the bed in the corner lay his son, sleeping soundly, holding on to a teddy bear so big that they looked almost comical together.

The fight went out of Andy at the sight. Even though he knew that he had just forgotten what had happened, he felt as if he had missed the crucial turning point in his life. He had become a father again, had gotten married again. And now here he was, bare and scared and confused, remembering none of it.

He turned around when he heard a noise from the hallway and found Raydor standing there, arms crossed in front of her body somewhat defensively. He didn't have it in him anymore to be angry with her, so he just walked right past her towards his bedroom.

It was now both of hers, that much was obvious. While most of the other rooms contained items he had bought, mixed with unfamiliar stuff, the bedroom had been changed completely. The bed was new and so was the dresser. Apart from that, the room was almost empty with long, flowing curtains. The combination gave it a tranquil atmosphere that made him want to lay down and fall asleep right away. There was a hint of lavender in the air that reminded him of something and then again did not. His mind was fuzzy. Maybe he would remember in the morning.

He took off his jacket and shoes, then the rest of his clothes, not caring what Raydor would see and dropped it all messily on top of the dresser, purposefully knocking over a photo of them in front of the Eiffel Tower. He collapsed on the bed a minute later, but didn't close his eyes just yet, watching Raydor standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"He was so tired, Andy," she said softly. "He just wanted his bed, so I didn't have the heart to make him leave. I know this is a difficult situation. I know you're injured. We just have to-"

He cut her off, albeit not aggressively. "Stay, why don't you. Just let me sleep." And with that, he pulled the covers over himself and passed out almost immediately.

Andy fell into a dreamless sleep that was as blank and empty as his memory. Wiped clean of a past that wasn't his.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

The laptop had gone into sleep mode and the screen was black for the time being, so there was no distraction from the handwritten note on the keyboard. Andy picked it up with clumsy fingers. His head was still pounding, the ibuprofen he had found in the bathroom cabinet not having kicked in yet. The pain in various other parts of his body was down to a dull ache that was very different from the pins and needles the hot water of the shower had caused due to countless abrasions. Whoever had done this to him, Andy vowed to himself, had it coming. For now, however, he was glad that he didn't have anything better to do than enjoy the empty house and the freshly-brewed coffee he had found in the kitchen.

But then there were that laptop and note sitting on the coffee table, waiting for him to do something about them. He picked the note up and read it, recognizing the neat handwriting from the countless times he had watched the Wicked Witch taking notes during interrogations.

 _Good morning, Andy. You were still asleep, so I decided not to wake you. I took Paddy to the beach for some playtime and then lunch. We won't be back for a few hours. In the meantime, if you would like to catch up on the past few years, the laptop contains our photos. - Sharon_

Sharon! He snorted at the signature. Not that he had expected her to sign her notes with "The Wicked Witch", but it felt odd nonetheless. He moved the cursor and the screen came to life to reveal a folder containing several subfolders in chronological order. He was pretty sure that this was _her_ work. He couldn't be bothered to label his files, let alone arrange them in chronological order. For a moment, he hesitated. This felt like trying to find out what you had done during an alcohol-induced blackout. He knew that he would find himself in these pictures, visiting places (Paris, he remembered from the picture upstairs), doing things he did not remember with people he did not remember or at least did not remember in this way.

For a moment he considered not checking the pictures out, snapping the computer's lid shut and finding out whether there was a ball game on television. The date in the right hand corner of the screen informed him that it was a Sunday morning. Maybe there would be a rerun. But then, as always, curiosity won out. He was not going to discover himself passed out in his own vomit, or having hit on women too young for him while looking at these pictures. Whatever he had been doing for the past few years, it was not going to be shameful - even though there was a strong possibility that it would be shocking nonetheless.

He opened one of the first folders entitled "Wedding". Apparently they had gotten married at the town hall with just a few people in attendance. He found a picture of Raydor with her arms around a pretty girl in her early twenties and a guy barely out of his teens. Her daughter and son, he guessed. He didn't remember their names, but the girl had the same green eyes as Raydor and Paddy while the son's features looked vaguely familiar from a long time ago. Andy remembered having seen her stressed-out with a little boy in tow decades ago.

The next picture was a group shot of everyone in attendance. A beaming man in a lavender suit stood next to Raydor in her simple but stunning white dress. Andy was surprised to recognize him as Gavin Baker, the lawyer from the city attorney's office who had left to open his own practice. There were Raydor's kids, two elderly people who he thought were probably her parents and part of his team. However, the Chief wasn't in the picture and neither was Gabriel. Instead there was a gorgeous black woman he did not recognize. He found himself standing next to Raydor, his arm around her as she leaned into him, smiling into the camera.

And then his breath caught. On his other side stood Nicole, smiling brightly and looking beautiful in a light blue dress. What amazed him even more than the fact that she had actually been there was the way she had looped her arm through his and was leaning into his shoulder, her head right next to his with more affection than she had shown him in years. Whatever had happened, if this picture was not misleading, he had somehow managed to patch up his relationship with his daughter. That realization lifted his spirits more than he would have ever expected and even the dull ache in his skull seemed to lessen for a moment.

He clicked through the pictures of the reception that had apparently taken place in some sort of park. One showed Raydor and Nicole hugging and in another, he found himself laughing about something with Raydor's son as if they had known each other forever. He felt a little queasy being presented with those images of past bliss. He was almost jealous of the man in them; he did look like him, but this was clearly not him.

The next folder in line was titled "Paris", which must have been their honeymoon. Paris, he thought. How generic! But then he had to admit that Paris was just too beautiful to be considered generic in any context. There were shots of buildings and the Seine glistening in the afternoon sun. He found pictures of Raydor laughing as she posed in a dress inside a shop, the label still attached. He wondered whether she had kept it. It was dark green and looked beautiful on her. The next picture made him smile. It was of their hotel room, the bed littered with shopping bags.

His smile didn't fade as he clicked on the next picture. It was them in front of the Eiffel Tower as well, but while the picture up in the bedroom had been taken by someone else, this was a selfie. He looked a little stiff since he was concentrating on getting the picture right, but Raydor was all relaxed, her head resting on his shoulder and blinking against the sun with her arms holding on to him. She wasn't wearing her glasses and for the first time he had an inkling on why this other him could have fallen in love with her.

He clicked on a folder titled "Thanksgiving 2012", hoping to see more of Nicole. And there she was, in his kitchen, posing with the turkey with a goofy grin. She was with a young man who had his arm around her waist and they looked happy. Raydor's kids were there, too, posing with Nicole, their arms around each other. He stopped at the next picture and leaned back, suddenly feeling dizzy. There he was on this very couch in the same spot he was occupying right now, Raydor next to him. He guessed from the way there were looking at each other that they had not been aware of a picture being taken. She was smiling up at him, her head resting against his shoulder while he had his hand on the almost imperceptible swell of her belly, leaning in to kiss her temple. It struck him how happy they looked and how intimate their touches and smiles were.

There was another folder with various shots from the beginning of 2013, appropriately labeled "Various". He saw himself painting the nursery with a hat made of old newspaper, found one of Raydor sleeping - or rather passed out - on the couch, snuggled into a blanket and another one of the two of them at the beach with their sunglasses on, holding hands. She was growing bigger in front of his very eyes as their baby inside of her grew steadily.

He was about to skip the folder named "Patrick Andrew Flynn - March 25th, 2013", but then opened it anyway. There was a dull ache in his chest when he thought of the little boy who understood as little of what had happened as he did himself. He couldn't imagine the world of pain the little one would find himself in once he realized that his father was no longer the person he knew. Maybe it was a form of self-punishment, or maybe he was just curious, but he clicked through all of the pictures.

The first one almost broke his heart. It showed a tiny baby with almost translucent skin, hooked up to so many machines that his body looked even smaller than it would have without them. The baby's eyes were closed and if he hadn't known better, he would have wondered whether it was still alive. He clicked on the next picture, showing Sharon in a wheelchair, her hair falling over her shoulders with none of its usual lusciousness, looking flat and limp. She was painfully pale and her shoulders looked frail in the hospital gown. She wasn't looking at the camera but at the fragile little boy in her arms who was sleeping, wrapped in a blue blanket and cradled close to her chest. Suddenly Andy understood why these pictures had been taken. Back then, they probably hadn't been sure whether these would remain the only photos they would have of their child.

He remembered her telling him that the baby had been early. He just hadn't thought that he had been this early. There was another picture of him with the baby, holding on carefully, as if the little human was made of porcelain. The little body seemed even tinier in his arms than in Sharon's and even now he felt himself tense, scared that touching the baby would harm it.

He relaxed a little when he saw the pictures that had been taken over the following weeks. The baby looked much better in them. He had gained weight and his skin was now of a healthier color. Andy looked at Raydor with the baby in her arms, smiling at the little boy with so much warmth that his heart seemed to skip a beat. In the next picture, they were on the couch in their living-room together, cuddling their son as the baby beamed at them, little hands reaching out for them.

Once he had started, he couldn't get enough and began to click through the entirety of the carefully documented first two years of his son's life. The pictures spoke of a happy family that had recovered from the horrors that those first days in the hospital must have brought. The baby was developing into a toddler in front of his very eyes. He saw the christening, Provenza standing next to the woman named Patrice who was proudly holding the kid in a group shot in front of the church. There was Nicole with her little brother, holding him in the air above her as he was laughing.

He saw pictures of them on the beach, Sharon holding up Paddy so he could take what Andy thought might have been his few steps. He saw himself, saw his own happiness that had evaporated along with his memories that someone had violently beaten out of his skull.

He hadn't paid attention to his coffee having gone cold, to the light that had changed or to anything else as he had taken in the images of his life. He only realized how long he had been sitting there, when he heard the front door open.

"Someone is going to have a bath now!" he heard Sharon say, answered by rapidly padding feet across the hardwood floors and a little boy's voice yelling "No! No! No!". Paddy didn't sound mad, but a little teasing instead. He came running into the living-room and his face lit up when he saw Andy. Andy tensed but then relaxed. The kid was smiling brightly, arms outstretched for him to pick him up.

"Daddy! Daddy! Mommy and me built a sandcastle!"

Andy picked him up and sat him on his arm. The weight was comforting in his arms. "Did Mommy take a picture?"

The boy nodded. "Daddy! I saw a seafall!"

He frowned. "Did you mean a seagull?"

Paddy thought about that for a moment and then began to imitate bird noises. Andy was still grinning when Sharon walked in wearing a sundress and holding a straw hat in her hands. It was another look on her he hadn't seen before. She looked pretty with her sunglasses pushed into her hair.

"Hello, Andy," she smiled back at him, clearly still cautious. "We took a little longer than I expected, but Paddy needs a bath before dinner."

"Nooo!" Paddy yelled, wrapping his arms around Andy's neck and hiding his face in his shoulder. "No bath!"

Sharon and Andy exchanged a smile that came a lot easier than it should have given the circumstances.

"There is no discussion, young man," Sharon said strictly, but with a healthy dose of amusement. She gently took Paddy from Andy and kissed his unruly dark hair. "You're all sandy, honey." The boy's laughter echoed through the house as he was carried upstairs.

/

Much later, Paddy was playing with his airplanes on the floor by the kitchen counter and Sharon and Andy were making dinner in silence. He snuck sideward glances at her from time to time, taking in her hair that was still wet from her own shower and the ensemble of black yoga pants and a tight dark red sweater. Her body looked great for three kids and what he guessed must be fifty-something years. He remembered always thinking that, even though before her, he had been dating women in their thirties. He watched her pour cranberry and sodas for both of them and the way she handed it to him without offering made him think that having that drink before dinner probably constituted some kind of ritual between them that he didn't remember.

She was making pasta with vegetables and he tried not to be in her way. He could have gone upstairs to be away from the kid and Sharon, but somehow he didn't feel the need to close off right now. And when had he started referring to her by her first name?

She didn't look at him when she finally asked. "Did you have a look at the pictures?" She sounded cautious, probably afraid to provoke an outburst from him. Andy's head hurt despite the ibuprofen and the bruises made themselves known more and more, but he wasn't as angry anymore. None of this was her fault, that much he knew.

"I did." The image of the helpless newborn flashed in front of his eyes and he tried to suppress it and the very real pain that accompanied it. Strange that he should feel that strongly about something long gone, something he had never experienced. "Paddy was pretty early, wasn't he?"

He wasn't surprised and yet affected by the flash of pain in her eyes as he mentioned it. "Yes, he was," she said softly. "by almost two months."

"What happened?" Andy asked, suddenly not only curious, but desperate to know. She lowered her voice, maybe to avoid Paddy overhearing what she was going to say, maybe to lower the impact on both Andy and herself.

"You were called away on a case one night," she turned and dried her hands on a towel. "I woke up from a contraction. My back had been bothering me all day but I hadn't thought anything of it. When I got out of bed, my water broke." Her voice shook. "I panicked because it was so early and I couldn't reach you, so I called Patrice."

He finally got it now. Patrice. Patrick.

"I couldn't have done it without her," she said. "I was so scared and he was still so small."

"I saw the picture of him in the incubator," Andy said and Sharon nodded. She looked so affected by the memory that he briefly wondered whether having forgotten about that time was actually a blessing in disguise. The pain he was feeling was just an imprint of what it had to feel like for her.

"We didn't know whether he would make it," she said. "It was a terrible time."

Andy looked over at Paddy who was pretending to land his airplane a chair near the counter. He didn't look like the small, sick baby in the incubator anymore and he felt a sudden rush of gratitude.

"We didn't lose him," he said.

When he looked over at her, she was smiling softly. "No, we didn't."

"So he is named after Patrice? Provenza's wife?"

Sharon nodded. "Yes. She was a godsend that night. She used to be a nurse, you know. And she is not Provenza's wife. They are not married. She says she likes the fact that they are living in sin. Provenza keeps proposing to her, but she always turns him down."

Andy snorted. "I kind of like her already."

Sharon smiled. "She is wonderful. She is Paddy's godmother."

Andy hesitated for a moment, then asked the question that had been on his mind since he had first set eyes on the kid.

"Why did we have a child so late in life? I mean, that pregnancy must have been high-risk from the start. What were we thinking?"

Sharon pursed her lips. "What we were thinking was that the vasectomy you had done years ago had taken when, in fact, it had not. We didn't think we had to worry about contraception and I find it kind of romantic that we had a lot of sex for three years without consequence before I got pregnant on our honeymoon in Paris."

Andy couldn't help but laugh. "Really? Then maybe we're lucky that he wasn't born with a striped shirt, a thin mustache and a baguette under his arm."

She clasped her hand over her mouth and tears appeared in her eyes. He was still trying to figure out what he had set to upset her this much, when she provided the answer herself.

"Oh, Andy. You don't remember, but that is exactly what you said when I told you I was pregnant after Paris." She chuckled, looking almost relaxed for a moment. "And then you wanted to call Gavin to ask about your chances on bringing a lawsuit against your doctor."

"Charming reaction to your wife telling you that she's having a baby," he said dryly.

Sharon shrugged. "You had a lot on your plate with the new job and all. And that was just before you called Paddy 'our little miracle'."

Andy frowned. "New job? Did I leave the LAPD?"

Now Sharon looked a little sad again, having been reminded that he did not remember anything of their life together.

"Oh, you would never! You got promoted to Captain and took over Major Crimes after Chief Johnson left."

Now she had to be making fun of him! Who in their right mind would promote him and give him a leadership role? The ex-alcoholic with an FID file that took up half a library? Apparently his disbelief showed, because Sharon was smiling.

"Chief Johnson recommended you as her replacement when she left and the new Deputy Chief of Police accepted that recommendation."

Andy snorted. "That guy must be out of his mind."

" _She_ trusted in your abilities," Sharon pointed out. "And she was right. You had a little bit of adjusting to do, but you're running your division well."

Andy went through his mental list of the higher ranking female officers of the department but couldn't imagine anyone despite Chief Johnson who would be in line for that sort of promotion. It had probably been an outsider.

"Who is that new Deputy Chief? Do I know her? Is it one of the DDAs? Hobbs?"

Sharon looked a little proud now, her smile bright. "No, Andy. It's me."


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Andy had learned early on in his career that being tired and being exhausted were two entirely different things. Being exhausted meant crashing after a prolonged adrenaline high. Being exhausted didn't mean that you went to sleep easily. Being exhausted meant tossing and turning and your mind going places you didn't want it to go. Being exhausted meant passing out and waking up with a dry mouth. Being tired was feeling relaxed. Being tired meant lounging on the couch and feeling your limbs go heavy and your mind go slack. Being tired was peaceful and pleasant.

The previous night, Andy had been exhausted. Now he felt closer to tired. When darkness had fallen around his house, he stood in the master bathroom and was feeling bewildered. He looked around furtively as he was brushing his teeth. The bathroom didn't look the way he remembered it. It had been remodeled in earthy colors, looking like something out of Architectural Digest. Where he was used to a clutter of items on a lopsided wooden cabinet, there was now order. Everything seemed arranged according to a system he did not understand. Where he remembered damp towels caressly dropped onto cracked tiles, there was now the smooth surface of an expensive flooring, all towels neatly arranged on matching holders.

He could not say that he did not like it, but it was odd, like so many things. He eyed all the female toiletry items he was not used to having around, his fingers lingering just short of a perfume bottle, a tube of lipstick and a hairbrush. He finally picked up a bottle of lotion at random and opened it. The scent almost knocked him off his feet. It wasn't particularly strong, but it was eerily familiar, making his heart feel heavy all of a sudden. He quickly replaced the bottle, his heart racing. It seemed that his nose remembered what the rest of him did not and as he relished control of his thoughts for a moment, he realized that something about the scent represented something that mattered to him, something so fleeting that he couldn't catch ahold of it.

Walking back into the bedroom, he found Sharon Raydor in white silk pajamas and bare feet on what he presumed must be her side of the bed. She held up a cell phone charger and smiled ruefully.

"Sorry. I forgot this."

He knitted his brow when he realized that she was not going to spend the night in the bedroom with him.

"You're sleeping in the guestroom?" he asked, the memory of the scent from back in the bathroom still prominent in his mind. He imagined that she smelled just like it and even though the woman still technically made his skin crawl, he felt the sudden urge to burrow his nose in her neck. He shuddered inwardly with disgust.

She nodded hesitantly. "Just like last night."

He didn't remember much from the previous night except falling into his bed and passing out. As he took in the sight of Sharon Raydor - or maybe Sharon Flynn, now that she was his wife - it struck him how different she looked away from the office. Her soft curves were more visible through the light silk pajamas and she looked shorter without her heels. Her face looked different, too, without her dark-rimmed glasses. Her make-up was off and her hair had been brushed out for the night. He could now see dark circles under her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well either.

"Well," he said, feeling a little guilty for feeling so relieved that she was about to leave. "Good night then."

She gave him a little smile that couldn't quite hide her sadness. "Good night, Andy." For a moment she looked as if she was going to come towards him to kiss or hug him goodnight, but then she didn't. Andy was grateful for it. She had almost reached the door to the landing when footsteps could be heard in the hallway. A moment later, a sleepy Paddy appeared in the doorway. He was wearing different pajamas than the previous night and his hair was tousled from sleep. He was rubbing his eyes, looking upset, as if he was about to start crying.

"Mommy, Daddy," he whispered, apparently terrified. "Had a bad dream."

He looked pitiful standing there like this, his arms hanging at his sides and his eyes swimming with tears. Sharon gave Andy an apologetic look and bent down to pick Paddy up. The boy rested his head against her shoulder and held on to her tightly.

"Sleep in Mommy's bed?" Paddy mumbled. He spoke very well for his young age, but his speech patterns were a little muffled sometimes as was normal with kids of his age. Andy found it adorable. After all, the little one was not responsible for who his mother was. Sharon swayed lightly from side to side to calm her child.

"Let's go over to the other room and sleep there, okay honey?" As soft as her voice was when she said the words, Andy saw what she could not: The kid's face changed from mild distress to terror. "Daddy!" he called out, reaching out a hand for Andy. Sharon, who had started to walk towards the hallway stopped and stroked Paddy's head, unsure what to do.

"It's going to be alright, baby. We'll-"

"No!" Paddy exclaimed in terror.

"Come on, you two," Andy heard himself say before the kid could worry itself into a frenzy. "Off to bed." He stepped towards Sharon and took the child from her, feeling the little arms coming around his neck as his son held on tightly. He probably knew that something had changed. Maybe that was even what had caused his bad dream and his desperate need to have both parents in the same place at the same time. Sharon lingered in the doorway, looking lost herself but Andy waved her over, trying his most winning smile on her even though he wasn't quite sure why.

It took her a moment to overcome her hesitance, but then she walked to the other side of the bed and got under the covers, edging closer to Paddy who grabbed a fistful of her pajama top and snuggled into her chest immediately. It looked like something they did often. Andy ran his hand down his son's back and felt him relax as his eyes fluttered closed. Sharon kissed his forehead and righted the lock of hair that had gotten stuck to it. She looked warm and maternal and that was a strange sight to behold, so at odds with how he knew her.

"Thank you," she said softly. "He has bad dreams from time to time and we let him sleep in our bed when he does."

Andy studied the boy's profile and smiled when he recognized Sharon in him. "He's beautiful," he said. Sharon smiled proudly, stroking the fist that was still firmly closed around the fabric of her pajamas. Somehow Andy was sure that even in sleep he was not about to let go any time soon.

"You're saying that because he is taking after you," she teased in a warm voice that he had never heard her use before. She sounded almost flirty there.

"You think?" Andy shifted to find a more comfortable position in the bed. The pounding in his head had lessened, but it was still very present. He pulled Sharon's covers up around the little boy to which he hummed softly in his sleep.

"He is definitely taking after you in some regards, too," he said, finding her eyes over their child between them. He was usually annoyed by all that humming she did, had been convinced so far that she did it purely to annoy him, but she hummed differently at home.

"Sometimes when he is asleep, I still see the fragile little baby," Sharon said, her voice wavering. "He was critical when he was born, so they wouldn't even let me hold him."

"Was I there to be with you through that?" he asked her, suddenly aching to find out more about that fateful night that still shook Sharon to the core two years later. He watched her pull the sleeping child against her, fussing with the blankets to avoid looking at him while tears were gathering in her eyes. He wasn't sure whether they were caused by the memories or by the current situation. Maybe it was a bit of both.

"We couldn't reach you," she said after a long while. "I had him on my own. Patrice had to step out for an hour. Something about the dosage the hospital was giving her granddaughter."

Lost in the memory, Sharon had obviously forgotten that he didn't know anything about Patrice's granddaughter, but he decided to file the thought away for later, if at all. Instead he gently put his hand over Sharon's.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault." She smiled self-consciously. "I'm sorry. This whole situation is making me emotional. I guess I need some sleep." She reached behind her and switched off her bedside lamp, leaving only his to illuminate the room. "Good night," she murmured when she settled down and closed her eyes, her face close to the top of Paddy's head. It was hard to reconcile the barely human nuisance he had made Sharon Raydor out to be with this woman in front of him. For the first time it occurred to him how difficult it had to be for her to find her husband replaced with the guy he had been years ago. The guy who detested her.

He switched his beside lamp off as well and turned onto his back, barely suppressing a groan at the pain that flared back up again immediately. He stared at the ceiling where the light of the street lamps outside drew crazy patterns as it filtered through the curtains. Sharon shifted in her sleep, her breathing now in sync with Paddy's. Andy felt oddly left out of a family he had no recollection of starting. He wanted to sleep too, but sleep wouldn't come in this house that was his and wasn't.

His body was tired and his joints were aching, but his mind was wide awake, so he reached for his cell phone that had been quietly charging on the beside table all day. Maybe the gadget could give him a clue as to who he was nowadays. Maybe it would jog his memory. He was pleased to find that he still used his birth date as a code. Once he had unlocked the screen, Sharon and Paddy were looking back at him. The picture was older, maybe from about a year ago, and Paddy was a happily grinning, chubby-cheeked baby, arms raised in excitement as Sharon smiled and kissed his cheek, holding him steady. So far it looked as if Andy actually was the besotted father and husband Provenza had made him out to be. It felt strange when the closest thing to a relationship that he remembered as recent had been three dates with the same blond thirty-something.

He clicked through a few snapshots, most of them of Paddy and Sharon, but some of them showing Nicole as well. He had seen so many photos today, he thought, his heart sinking. If they hadn't made him remember, why would these? Instead he went for the text messages. The most recent conversation was between him and Provenza, Provenza asking him to come to the precinct tomorrow to give his statement on what had happened. _I have no fucking idea what even happened_ , he wanted to tell him. _That is why I am in this mess._ He glanced over at Sharon and Paddy, but they didn't seem bothered by the light coming from the screen, both out cold.

He opened the second conversation and scrolled through it. A text from the early evening of the night he had been attacked, asking him when he would be home. He sneered at the fact that she signed all of her texts "XOXO, Sharon". It seemed too childish, somehow. He had replied that he would be late since Major Crimes was busy with a case. Frowning, he went back to Provenza's latest text message and scrolled up. And sure as hell there it was, Provenza telling him to "get out of that office" and go to a bar for a beer slash cranberry and soda. And then there was his own reply, telling Provenza that he couldn't make it because he had to make it home in time for dinner with Sharon. He checked the messages again. Both had been sent only minutes apart from each other on that fateful night. But if he had told Sharon that they were working a case, which they obviously hadn't been, and he had told Provenza that he needed to be home – where had he been?

For a moment, that familiar panic that came with a blackout flared up, making his palms go sweaty and his cheeks burn. Then he calmed down. This was not something he had done in a drunken stupor. This was something he had planned and executed at his full mental capacity. Or so he hoped. Looking for clues, he went back and found a series of texts that had been exchanged with a number that wasn't saved in the phone's memory. Intrigued, he scrolled through the few messages.

"What about tonight?" The message had been sent two days ago at 4:56 p.m. He had replied instantly: "I said no texting. Meet me at 8 p.m. The usual place." The reply came swiftly: "Can't wait." A sudden epiphany made him check his caller logs and he found that he had spoken on the phone with the person the number belonged to several times over the past two weeks. The calls had all been brief, mostly two or three minutes long, all of them having occurred during the day.

When he was away from his wife? He read through the messages again, but they were innocuous enough except for the "no texting"-part. Still, he couldn't help but wonder whether he had had an affair. Why else would he have lied to both Sharon and Provenza about the meeting with this person? He looked over at Sharon who was sleeping soundly with their child cradled to her. He shouldn't have felt guilty. He hardly even knew who Sharon Raydor was while the kid was a complete stranger to him. But then he had never been unfaithful to his ex-wife even during his worst times as an alcoholic. He had always been at bars, had always picked fights, had even driven his car while he had been drunk – even though that had been only once. He had flirted with countless women because it had made him feel good about himself, but he had never had sex with any of them. Why was he throwing away a life that had obviously made this version of him happy?

The lights of a passing car briefly illuminated the room, his gaze landing on the picture of them in front of the Eiffel tower. They looked happy. They had only gotten married a few years ago. They had had another child at their age. The pictures on the laptop downstairs had looked as if they were happy, close. Or was there something nobody was telling him? Was Sharon Raydor as bossy and cold at home as she was at work? Did she just appear placid and pleasant now because she had been worried about him? Had the kid put a strain on their relationship? Was Sharon still shutting him out because she couldn't forgive that he had not been there for her when she had given birth to Paddy? She had said otherwise, but he could imagine the pain that would come with giving birth all alone, not even close to term. She must have known that the baby's chances of survival were slim, must have been so afraid. He locked the screen and tossed the phone aside. Traumatic events like that could easily put a strain on a marriage. He had seen couples drift apart because of less.

Were they only together because of the kid? Paddy had seemed devastated at the prospect of spending the night with only one parent. Maybe the circumstances surrounding his birth caused them to make sacrifices for him that would have been otherwise unthinkable. With how he saw Sharon, it was easy to believe that their marriage was a sham, all the happy pictures just a facade they presented to the world. Maybe that was all that Raydor had wanted: A husband and a kid to show the world how successful she was not only professionally but also in her private life. You didn't climb the ranks of the LAPD if people couldn't relate to you. Especially as a woman. She had and she still was.

He looked at her in the semi-darkness of the bedroom, her face half in shadow. He had no idea whether she was any of the things he had made her out to be. Maybe all the snappiness was just a facade to hide a big heart. He turned onto his side and caught her scent. She smelled of the lotion he had found in the bathroom, but her natural scent blended into it, making it feel whole. He closed his eyes, inhaling it deeply. And finally it came to him. This scent, her scent, was home. That was why it had made his heart swell back in the bathroom, why it had made him want to wrap her up in his arms and cradle her to him even though his mind was telling her that he despised her.

There was no way that that Andy, the person he had been for the past few years, hadn't loved her. His body remembered even though he didn't.

And something else suddenly became clear to him, weighing on his mind and his conscience like a rock: Maybe he had been on his way to destroy all this before he had lost his memory. Maybe the guy who had hit him over the head had actually done him a favor.

Or maybe it was already too late and it was only a matter of time until it all came out.

 **A/N:** Sorry for the long wait! First I was busy, then my laptop broke. Pesky little things those windows upgrades...


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

 **A/N:** Thank you for your patience!I took an involuntary break from writing when real life events didn't leave any inspiration, but I am back!

Provenza was feeling awkward and didn't manage to hide it. That alone was terrifying. The way he knotted his fingers together and shifted his gaze was not at all what Andy was used to from his best friend.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as Andy approached, fingers clenched around a paper cup of coffee and his head still pounding. The painkillers were taking the edge off, but his head still hurt like a bitch. Provenza usually wasn't the type to inquire after people's well-being, physical or otherwise. Andy stopped next to him, taking in the new coat of paint the hallway had acquired since the last time he remembered being at the headquarters of the Los Angeles Police Department.

"What do you think?" he snapped and that gave him at least some temporary relief. With Raydor and the kid, he had to tread carefully, but this was his best friend. Their friendship was practically based on yelling obscenities at each other. "I woke up to a breakfast of green smoothies and egg white omelets."

He had been somewhat appalled by the display. When he had come downstairs, Raydor had been busy at the stove while Paddy had been in his high chair, messing around with fruit and oatmeal. He had slept through the rest of the family's morning routine to be woken by the smell of eggs and the banging of a spoon against a bowl.

"Looks like the Wicked Witch imposed all of her health nuttiness on me," he spat, disgusted not by the meal itself, but by the implications of what he had just said. What had happened to him? When had he started being okay with having her redecorate his place and change his eating habits?

"Nah, you went along willingly. Your blood pressure was running high when the two of you had that baby on the way and you didn't want to risk dropping dead before Sharon gave birth." Provenza was as sarcastic as ever, but there was the slightest hint of warning in his tone.

Andy rolled his eyes and decided not to follow through with the rant he had planned on his way over.

"Now are you going to question me or what? Not that I remember anything I could tell you."

It was now Provenza's turn to roll his eyes. "Look, I am not doing this to torture you. We want to find the son of a bitch who did this to you, that's all."

Flynn bowed his head in agreement. Provenza was right both in what he was saying and in what he was implying by using this particular tone of voice. Flynn was being an asshole to everyone around him, but he couldn't help himself. His head was pounding and he had too many questions to ask anyone. Worst of all, he was longing for a drink to dull his senses and the knowledge that he couldn't have one made his craving even stronger.

Provenza who had been walking ahead of him slowed his pace, causing Andy to instinctively match his slower steps. His shoulders tightened and Andy began to dread what was coming. Provenza turned around, the deeper lines on his face once again standing out and making Andy feel as if he had woken from a long sleep of several years to see that everyone around him had moved on without him.

"Look, Flynn," Provenza pointed at him rather aggressively, his hand shaking slightly. "You've got a good thing going there, okay? I know you don't remember, I know you're suddenly the same old bastard again you were several years ago, but that relationship, that marriage was good for you, okay?" He sucked in the air in such a way that Flynn was briefly fearing for his health. "I've never seen you that happy in your life and I swear I am going to have your ass if you destroy everything that made you so happy."

Andy dropped his arms at his sides, a little bit of coffee running down his hand, a drop catching his sobriety ring. He stared at his best friend whom he had never seen that agitated on behalf of anyone, let alone Sharon Raydor.

"Sharon is one of the good ones, okay? You are my best friend, but she is my friend, too, and I swear I am going to make you regret it if you hurt her or the little one!"

Andy drew his brows together, opting for silence rather than talk. He had no idea what to say, felt like a fish out of water. His phone was burning in his pocket, containing the messages that hinted at an affair. Had he been in the process of hurting Sharon even before he had forgotten that he loved her? Had he been on his way to destroy his little family again? He thought back to the latest pictures he had discovered on his phone, only days old. Him with a squirming Paddy in his arms and Sharon next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she was taking the selfie.

 _You've got a good thing going there._

He sighed and raised his hands in a gesture that was meant to both convey that he didn't know what to do and to deescalate.

"Let's go to your office," Provenza said curtly and led the way through to said office that Flynn remembered as Brenda Leigh Johnson's. It was strange to see his old desk in the bull pen abandoned and his squad mates looking back at him with veiled looks in their eyes. What was it he was seeing? A new sort of respect because he was the boss now? A new distance due to that fact even? Or was he seeing concern now that he was an amnesiac who didn't have the first clue? He raised his hand in an awkward greeting even to the attractive black woman he remembered from his wedding pictures. The name plate on her desk said Detective Sykes, a name that didn't ring a bell with him at all.

Inside his office, Andy numbly watched Provenza snap the blinds closed and looked around the room. Chief Johnson's chaos had been replaced with his own. Files and notes littered the desk and the sideboard behind it, an empty coffee cup sitting in a precarious balance on a stack of binders. Post-it notes made the laptop almost unrecognizable as such. The artwork of a child was tacked to one wall, colorful yet uncoordinated lines making up something that might or might not have been a dog. There was a picture of Raydor with Paddy in her arms, smiling brightly. It was their first day back from the hospital, he knew, as he recognized her clothes from the other pictures he had seen of that day.

He fell into the chair behind the desk, Provenza lowering himself into the one opposite it and cutting right to the chase.

"I spoke to Dr. Morales. Your injuries are consistent with someone hitting you over the head with a blunt object from behind while holding you in place with the other arm. The bruise on your chest stems from the seat belt digging into your skin, so whoever attacked you was most likely in the backseat of your car."

"Morales, right? What am I, a corpse now?" Andy put his coffee cup down on the only free spot he could find. The copper plate on his desk was half-disguised by stray sheets of paper, but he could make out the words: "Captain Andrew Flynn". It was both a strange and exhilarating sight.

Provenza blew out air, exasperated, but ignored Andy's interjection.

"We found your car a block away from your house with your blood in the front seat and your fingerprints all over the steering wheel. There were other fingerprints in the back, but mostly partials and we will have to match them against your friends' and family's."

Andy groaned. This sounded as if it was going to go absolutely nowhere.

"If I was strapped in and someone surprised me, attacking me from behind, we have no idea of their strength," he said, his investigative instincts finally kicking in. He just had to try to view this as just another case, a victim having been attacked. If he got his hands on the son of a bitch who had taken his memories away, he would give them a good beating.

"True," Provenza nodded appreciatively, probably glad that Andy was no longer sulking obviously.

"So it could have been anyone," Andy said. "Too bad that I don't remember who could have wanted to bash my head in. What else do we have?"

* * *

"Andy." A smile flitted across Sharon's face as she turned away from her secretary, absent-mindedly handing the pen back to the pretty redhead who took the hint and stepped out along with the binder full of documents to be signed. Sharon's office was big and fancy for an LAPD office, but then she was up there with the other brass nowadays. There were no stacks of files, but shiny, pristine spaces and neatly organized shelves and tasteful art on the walls. There were no family photos to be seen anywhere, but he remembered that from the countless times he had been in her office back in FID. He had always suspected that you just didn't want your family on display if everyone who ever came into your office hated you. He reckoned that that was a rather hard habit to shake.

"Hey," he said, unsure of how to deal with this situation. If he was a the station, it was normal to swing by his wife's office during lunch time to see what she was up to. The secretary hadn't even batted an eyelash, but it did feel strange to him nonetheless.

This morning, just before Provenza had picked him up, Sharon had still been in her robe during breakfast, but now she was wearing a black pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse that clung to her upper body in all the right places. Andy found himself surprised by a surge of physical longing for her and he wondered for a second whether it would be inappropriate to touch her, pull her to him and feel those silk-clad curves against his own body.

His desire must have shown on his face, because there was a small smile playing at her lips before she stepped closer and gently reached out to straighten his tie. He couldn't help but notice that its yellow color clashed horribly with the color of her blouse.

"How did it go?" He still wasn't used to the soft tones she used around him and the kid. He only ever remembered the steel in her voice when she had come down on him with all the power vested in her by FID so many times before.

"As expected, I couldn't be of much help," he said, unable to keep the frustration out of his tone. "They are looking into it, but they don't want me around before I am cleared for duty. Whenever that may happen."

She was standing close, her hands still on his chest. He caught a whiff of her perfume, something subtle and flowery and probably expensive, blending nicely with her own scent without overpowering it. He didn't remember ever having paid attention to her scent before. She looked up, her eyes hooded, taking in his face. He felt the back of her fingers lightly caress his cheek before she stood up straighter, her lips about to touch his when she shrunk back at the very last second, embarrassment blooming red on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, quickly turning around and busying herself with straightening the already perfectly arranged objects on her desk.

While Andy felt disappointed and relieved at the same time, Sharon looked at her watch.

"It's almost one. I am supposed to pick up Paddy at the daycare, so I can take him to the mall for some new shoes. He has outgrown almost all of his sneakers again already."

 _Mom-duties for the Wicked Witch_ , he thought, _weird_.

He found that he didn't remember whether the LAPD had a daycare center. He supposed so.

Sharon forewent the matching black blazer that hung neatly over the back of her desk chair and grabbed a dark-red cardigan and her purse, obviously busying herself to avoid having to look at him. Her cheeks were still flushed.

"Hey, um, can I tag along?" He didn't know why he was even asking, but some part of him enjoyed the look of delight on her face when he did.

"Of course!" She laughed nervously. "Even though, you know, our son is fussy when it comes to shoes."

"Well," Andy said. "I don't know, but then that is probably my genes."

She smiled up at him and led the way to the elevator, hips swaying in her tight skirt. Andy's mouth was dry. Had he always been attracted to her without noticing it? A few minutes later he found himself in a colorful room decorated with children's artwork that seemed out of place in the sterile environment of the LAPD. Paddy, who was reluctant to leave his toys behind, took some coaxing to come with them and while Andy watched Sharon talk down the kid from an impending temper tantrum, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

His heart began to beat a little faster as he recognized the number as the one he had been exchanging messages with previous to the attack. Despite himself, he checked around him for prying eyes before he opened the text message.

" _I am still waiting for the money, Andy. Next time it won't be just you._ "

His heart caught in his throat when he saw the picture that was attached. Sharon, with Paddy on her hip in the blouse he had admired mere minutes ago, locking her car. Someone was following her. Even though a large part of him was still clinging desperately to the notion that he hated that woman and didn't know that child, he felt the powerful urge to protect his family.

His phone vibrated again and despite the dread he felt, he swiped the screen with his thumb to read the new message.

" _Pay or I'll tell. The usual place. Tomorrow._ "

Andy closed his eyes. _Do not give in to blackmail_ , he thought, but the uneasy feeling stayed. He had no other choice than not to give in, because he didn't remember how to meet the blackmailer's demands or what exactly would happen if he didn't.

He looked up at the sound of Sharon's heels, a sullen Paddy holding her hand. She looked a little rattled by the fight that the kid had been putting up.

"Are you okay?" she asked, nodding at the phone in his hand. "Anything new from Provenza?"

For a moment he considered telling her about the threat and he had already opened his mouth to say something to her, when another thought struck him. What if the blackmailer was a woman? What if he had actually had an affair with a crazy woman who was now threatening to expose it to Sharon? And what if she and Paddy were in danger because he couldn't keep it in his pants?

"Mommy, I'm hungry!" Paddy whined.

"We are going to have lunch before we buy your shoes, okay?" Sharon said. "Until then, I have a snack for you in the car."

Andy trailed after them on the way to the parking garage, rendered mute by the threat he had received. He watched them walk and talk, Paddy slowly coming out of his sulky mood. He recognized some of his brother's mannerisms in the kid that were probably his own, too, but he cocked his head exactly the same way that his mother did.

It was so strange to find himself with a new wife and child out of the blue. The kid was virtually a stranger to him and yet there was a feeling inside him that was too powerful to be drowned out by amnesia or ignored because of his own stubbornness.

They were his and he had to keep them safe.


	7. Chapter 7

\- **7** -

The way Andy remembered it, dinner at Provenza's meant pizza from a grease-stained delivery box of which he had to pick off pieces of meat since Provenza refused to "condone any of that vegetarian bullshit". Therefore, it felt rather surreal to find himself sitting at a nicely-set table with a home-cooked meal in front of him that provided a vegetarian option and friendly conversation being made instead of a baseball game on television drowning out any attempt at talking. Andy wasn't sure whether Provenza was enjoying it. It had always been hard to tell what was going on in the other man's head and since he was in cahoots with the Wicked Witch nowadays, one could never know what he was up to.

The Wicked Witch was clearly enjoying herself beyond the usual. Her cheeks were slightly flushed as she was on her second glass of wine which, to Provenza's dismay, she had declared to also be her last for today. With Paddy being doted on by his godmother, she was also relieved of mom-duty for the time being and was entertaining herself by making Provenza tell embarrassing stories from back in the day. Andy, feeling oddly shut-out despite the fact that everyone was making regular, yet futile attempts to include him in the conversation, was alternating between eyeing Sharon's cleavage from the corner of his eyes and wondering about Patrice's granddaughter who was sitting opposite from him. Even though a part of him was still convinced that he hated Sharon, another one was busy and quite happy to notice her body. The still rather professional silk blouse at the office had nothing on the tight, low-cut t-shirt she was wearing along with a nice, tight-fitting pair of jeans. If he had known that dinner at Provenza's would come along with such visual pleasures, he wouldn't have resisted for so long. His earlier suspicion was proved right by this current experience: His body remembered Sharon very well. Right now he had to make a conscious effort not to reach over and place his hand on Sharon's thigh to see whether it felt as firm and inviting as it looked.

Patrice's granddaughter was a different story, so he tried to concentrate on her instead. She was undeniably pretty with smooth dark skin and almond-shaped eyes, her hair pulled away from her face to accentuate its lovely shape. There was something innocent and fragile about her that he knew to be attractive to men. Despite her attractiveness, he could tell that something was off with her. It was not that she had lost her parents early or that she was still living with her grandmother at twenty-four. Even if Sharon hadn't briefed him on the way over on Keisha's mental illness, he would have been able to tell by subtle hints like the haunted look that sometimes appeared in her eyes for the briefest of moments or by her eerie quietude. It was as if she was a ghost at the table. Silent, unless spoken to; smiling from time to time, but never sincere. She looked up to meet his eyes for the very first time while everyone else was laughing and looking at Provenza who was in the midst of telling a story. The smile she gave him was different, a little sultry even. Or had he imagined that? Before he knew it, she was looking back down at her plate where she was picking at her food. Something stirred inside Andy, but he wasn't sure what it was. Alarm, maybe?

"Hey, are you alright?" He was snapped out of his funk by Sharon's hand on his thigh. It was warm and soft and he had trouble biting back a groan. She seemed to notice and quickly withdrew, giving him a small, apologetic smile. "You looked as if you were in pain again. Do you need an advil?"

"I'm fine," he grumbled and took a large bite of his broccoli in order to forego another comment. He hated himself for his sudden, irresistible attraction to her, for the way his body's desire was taking over as his headache lessened. Four days after the fact, it was almost gone and the bump on his head was shrinking as well. Apparently, the absence of constant excruciating pain allowed his traitor of a body to explore other avenues and last night, alone in their bed with Sharon in the guestroom, he had clung to the remains of her scent, finding himself fantasizing about what it would be like to go over to her room and take those pajamas off of her.

He couldn't reconcile that instinct with the rest of them who were all screaming at him to get away from the Wicked Witch in a deafening chorus. He was tempted to drive off to a bar and chat up a college student just for the heck of it, but something kept him. Sharon turned away from him and he could tell that she was hurt only from the slight change in her posture. In the short few days that they had spent as a dysfunctional nuclear family unit, he had learned to read her. At work, he knew from experience, you could throw anything at her and the only reaction you would ever receive would be an arrogant smirk. At home she was not as adept at closing herself off. When hurt, she would withdraw, turn into herself, but never comment. She was a completely different creature and the mixture of vulnerability and strength she presented touched upon a soft spot inside him. It made him want to comfort her and to be comforted by her at the same time. Sometimes, even, he caught glimpses of why a man could fall madly in love with this woman and it terrified him.

He looked back at Keisha in an attempt to divert his thoughts. She was wearing a knitted white dress that was a nice contrast to her flawless dark skin. As far as he could tell, she wasn't wearing any make-up at all except for a hint of pink glistening on her lips. He had asked Sharon on their way over and she had provided why Patrice had been called away during the night Paddy was born and what it was to do with her granddaughter. Apparently Keisha had schizophrenic episodes during which she got violent. Back in 2013, she had been at a clinic for a few weeks, where there had been some kind of disturbance that night. Patrice had a calming effect on her granddaughter which was why she was living with her for the time being. Aided along by medication, she had recovered from the worst of her mental illness, but it was still there like a predatory animal, sometimes flickering behind her eyes, or so Andy imagined.

He watched Patrice cut chicken into tiny bits for Paddy who happily devoured it, waiving his arms and laughing at his godmother. She proceeded to offer him small pieces of carrots, but Paddy refused, squeezing his eyes and mouth shut. Sharon looked amused but still admonished him gently to eat his vegetables. Paddy stared at her morosely and scrunched up his face in addition to his previous antics when Patrice brought the fork up again.

And that was when it hit Andy.

 _The baby looked impossibly small in the incubator. Lifeless, even. If not for the sounds of the heart monitor attached to its tiny body by one of the countless tubes and wires surrounding its little form, Andy wouldn't have been convinced that it was even alive. The air was heavy with antiseptic smells, the room deafeningly silent except for the artificial sounds of the machines. This was not how it was supposed to be, Andy found himself thinking in anguish. A birth was a happy occasion. There should have been relatives and flowers and comparisons of who the baby looked most like. For now, he was unable to tell at all as the baby's eyes were closed and its face was scrunched-up in discomfort. He let go of the handles of the wheelchair and gently bent down to stroke back a strand of hair from Sharon's face. She was pale and her cheeks were wet with the constant tears she had been shedding ever since he had first entered her hospital room. She was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally, from giving birth earlier, but she hadn't slept, hadn't rested for being so scared for her child's life. He crouched down next to her and drew his arms around her as she sobbed on his shoulder, his eyes never leaving his little boy over Sharon's shoulder. He felt so guilty for not being there. For being away, for chasing after someone else's child, for lying to Sharon._

"Honey?" This time Sharon's hand hand found his arm and he was glad for its presence even though he would have never admitted to that sentiment. Everyone was staring at him except for Paddy who was in the process of trying to hide a half-chewed piece of carrot under his plate.

"Sorry," Andy murmured, dazed by the flashback. It, too, reminded him of drunken blackouts of the past, when the fuzzy remainders of the memory of a single moment had come back like a flash in the night, standing alone and hard to understand without context. Only this memory had not been fuzzy. In fact it had been so clear and strong that for a moment, he had completely zoomed out of the present, which he was sure was why everyone was staring at him like this. "Just a headache. I think I need some fresh air."

With that he got up and placed his napkin on the table. Sharon was smart enough not to follow him as he stalked towards the door leading to Provenza's garden. Outside, he deeply inhaled the cool air. Fall in Los Angeles was a far cry from what it had been in New Jersey where he had grown up with its crisp air, pale blue sky and colorful leaves, but the earthy smell was the same and the heat was a lot less stifling than during the summer months. He waited for his rapid heartbeat to slow down. Why had he been feeling so guilty? He hadn't been there for Sharon when she had had Paddy, but he knew instinctively that his absence itself was not what had caused this terrible feeling of guilt. It had been the fact that he had lied to Sharon. But what had he been lying about? His whereabouts that night? He remembered the text messages on his phone. The texts exchanged with the other number, the phone calls, his lying to Provenza about going home to dinner with Sharon. Had he been having an affair for such a long time? An affair that had made him leave his heavily pregnant wife alone at home? Had made him ignore his phone when she had frantically tried to reach him for help? He felt sick. That wasn't him. Or was it?

"Want a smoke?" He turned to see Keisha who had joined him at the far side of the garden. She was offering him a pack of cigarettes that he declined. He had never been a smoker as it had never done anything to quench his thirst for liquor. He imagined the taste of bourbon exploding in his mouth, the liquid burning down his throat and he almost whimpered with longing. Keisha didn't seem to notice his discomfort and simply lit her cigarette, the tip of it a glowing ember in the dusk around them. Her eyes looked so much darker out here, her petite white-clad form like a shadow in the night.

"Amnesia, right?" Her voice was soft and warm, calming. When she looked up at him, there was something unveiled and raw in her gaze. "So you don't remember me either?"

A cold hand seemed to clasp itself around Andy's heart. Was she the one he'd had an affair with? Was that why he noticed her beauty even though she was so young? How old had she been three years ago? Twenty-two? How long had this been going on before that? He felt so disgusted with himself that he took a step back. Keisha was smiling.

"You remembered something in there, didn't you?" she asked silkily. "Did you remember something about me?"

The cigarette smoke made Andy feel sick and his headache flared back up for a moment, almost as if someone had hit him again.

"I'm sorry-" he trailed off, unable to say anything. He wanted to yell at her, wanted to shake her and ask her what she was hinting at, but another, much stronger part of him simply didn't want to know. If what he was suspecting was the truth, he was absolutely despicable. Betraying his wife with his best friend's step granddaughter for years and years. It couldn't be. It couldn't be him. Even through his worst he had never been like this. With one last look at Keisha, he stumbled towards the door and back into Provenza's living room. If that was what he had become, he was glad that he didn't remember.

/

That night, when they had tucked Paddy into bed, foregoing his usual bedtime story as he had fallen asleep in the car already due to the late hour, Andy watched his wife pick out her outfit for the next day before retreating to the guest room for the night. He clung to the image of their marriage as it had presented itself up until this night. They trusted each other, they loved each other. Never in a million years would he have thought of having an affair. No, it couldn't be. Keisha was mentally ill, she had issues. What if she did this on a regular basis? He remembered Sharon telling him that Keisha often invented stories, that sometimes she talked herself into actually believing them. That it was a symptom of her illness. What if this was another one of these stories? What if he was just susceptible to them in his state? He had no way of telling whether it was the truth or not with his amnesia. What if Keisha was just enjoying the fact that, for once, someone could join her in her delusion? Keisha was so young. Even though Andy liked younger women, he didn't like them that young. Never had. Especially not since his own daughter had grown up and women that age had suddenly fallen into the same category as Nicole. He shuddered at the thought of laying a hand on a girl that young, however beautiful she might be. No. This had to be wrong. The hints she had given him were designed to torture him, to lur him into a trap of her troubled mind's making. Why would he feel so damn attracted to his wife if he had been seeking his thrills elsewhere for the past few years?

He looked at the burgundy dress and black blazer she had laid out on the bed and watched her take out a pair of black high heels to accompany the outfit. Before he knew what he was doing, he had stepped towards her and stood behind her, his arms firmly around her waist. She jumped at first but then leaned back against him, taking a deep shuddering breath. The shoes in her hand made a hollow noise that barely registered with Andy as they connected with the wooden floor. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent. Home, this was home. He was a husband, a father, he was at home here and he would not stray.

Having held back and denied his attraction to her all evening, he found that he was unable to continue doing so now that he had broken the physcia barrier and was holding her. She felt so good in his arms. Slender but soft and so warm. He began to kiss her neck and suck in the sensitive skin. Sharon murmured his name with urgency, but did nothing to stop him. Only a moment later she was on the bed and he was on top of her, his hand up her top, cradling her left breast while he was kissing her with urgency. She smelled so good, so familiar and her lips were so soft and pleasantly wet. He ground against her a little and found her respond for a moment before she suddenly stilled.

"Andy," she said and then more urgently "Andy!"

It took every ounce of restraint in his body to draw back and look at her while she was underneath him with her legs apart like that.

"Andy, I can't," she said, her eyes full of remorse. "This doesn't feel right."

He exhaled, fully aware that she was right.

"You still don't remember... us," she said, sitting up and righting her clothes. "When you are not making a conscious effort, I can tell that you're still wondering why on earth you are married to the bitch from FID." There was a world of pain in her eyes that sobered him up instantly. She brought her hand up to his face and caressed his cheek. "I'd love to spend the night with you, but I can't. I love you, Andy. You're my husband. But this would feel like a fling with someone who despises me."

She was right and he admired her restraint. Sharon Raydor would not give herself over to a delusion, not even for one night, he realized. What he had always considered to be an annoying trait in her suddenly felt brave and admirable.

"I'm sorry," he said, frantically searching his mind for something to say that would make this marginally better.

"Don't be," she said, gathering her clothes against her chest, ready to leave. "We'll sort this out." But her voice sounded choked and he was once again reminded of how hard this whole situation had to be for her. He remembered her having the same posture as the numerous new widows he had seen during his career when he had emerged from the ER at the hospital a few days ago and it figured. She had lost her husband and in some measure, she was grieving for him. And maybe it was even worse to have him here with her physically, but to be unable to connect on an emotional level as they once must have.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I remembered something today." He hadn't planned on telling her, but somehow the words tumbled out in an effort to reassure her. Maybe his memories would come back, maybe she would get her husband back.

"You did?" she asked, a flash of hope lighting up her features before she had herself under control again.

"I remembered the moment when we first saw Paddy. You were crying in my arms. He looked so helpless."

Sharon pressed her lips together against the tears that were threatening to fall, but didn't say a thing.

"Where was I that night?" Andy asked, suddenly desperate. "Why didn't I answer my phone when your water broke?"

"A case... I don't know," Sharon answered in a choked voice. "I think it was a stake-out or something. It didn't seem important at the time." She looked at a point over his right shoulder and drew a deep breath before turning away.

"It's getting late. Good night, Andy."

With a sense of loss much greater than he could have ever expected, Andy watched his wife leave the bedroom.

 **A/N:** Inspiration took a very long time to strike this time! I do hope that the next chapter won't take that long. Thank you for everyone who has been encouraging me along the way. I am always so interested in hearing what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

 **A/N** : It's been over a year since I last updated this and I have to say I am so, so grateful for all the supportive comments I have received ever since. So much has been going on in my real life that I simply didn't find the inspiration to write. I promise that I will try to be better about finishing this story. Particularly in these hard times after Sharon has been killed off on the show. Whether we agree with it or not, whether it was good writing or a cheap cop out, whether we are angry with the producer of not, just remember: It is fiction and for that, fanfiction is just as real (or unreal) as anything we saw on screen. I hope this story helps to gets people's mind off things and makes us all a little happier. Please don't forget to tell me what you think! I love reading your comments and hearing your theories.

As much as Andy wished for things to be different, the night in their bedroom had left a residue. A residue of lust for Sharon that - much worse - also manifested in a lingering feeling of affection laced with just enough regret for sleep to remain elusive. Having reread the string of messages he had exchanged with the unknown number for the umpteenth time and then having resorted to tossing and turning in his empty bed, he rose to make his way downstairs. Creeping along the corridor on his tiptoes so he would not disturb Sharon and Paddy, he found that it was quite unnecessary as there was a small strip of light under the door of the guest bedroom. Still intent on not making his presence known, he paused in front of it and listened hard to pick up the small sounds that were audible through the wood. Sobs. Deep and heartfelt, but clearly muffled by what must be a sleeve or a pillow. A pang of guilt struck him when he heard it, heard Sharon Raydor cry. Sharon Raydor, who could take anything and everything without as much as batting an eyelash, was sobbing her heart out in his guest room.

Before he had a chance to consider what it was he wanted to do - ignore her or go in and take her in his arms - she groaned softly. Whether it was that strangled groan or the crying itself he didn't know, but it launched him right into a memory. This time it wasn't as real as it had been before. He didn't feel thrown into the middle of a situation. Instead, an unbidden image entered his mind. He'd been behind a door like this before, his hand on the handle, ready to barge in. There was a certain urgency to overcome the barrier it represented, to be inside. Inside with Sharon, he now understood. The image in his mind was like a photograph. He couldn't turn and see his surroundings, could hear nothing but Sharon's noises of agony. The door looked different than the ones in his house, more institutional. Grey hard plastic, not white wood. A sign next to the door that he couldn't read. He heard the sound again, then a soft voice, coaxing Sharon.

"You're doing fine, Sharon. The baby is doing fine as well. The heart rate is perfectly normal."

Sharon's reply was hoarse, as if she was completely exhausted and in pain.

"Were you able to reach my husband? Or my friend I came in with?"

"Andy."

The picture became a scene, he smelled antiseptics, heard the bustle of a busy hospital, inhaled the stuffy air of a corridor with too many doors and no windows. He turned around and saw linoleum and white walls, found the woman he now knew as Patrice approaching him with a worried look in her eyes, addressing him sternly. "There is something we need to do."

He looked back at the door, his desire to go in and be by Sharon's side pulling at his heartstrings.

He snapped out of the memory and found himself in the present, still standing in the darkness of his own house. He knew that he hadn't gone in all those years ago. Why hadn't he gone in?

Downstairs, he pondered the half-empty bottle of white wine that he had discovered in the door of the fridge. The glass wet with condensation, it looked both tantalizing and mocking. Bourbon would have been his drug of choice, of course, but it seemed that they did not in fact have a liquor cabinet.

Sharon Raydor had become human to him in the course of the few days that made up the entirety of his recent memories. The tables had shifted. Where he had once been comfortable in his hatred of her, he was now on the brink of despising himself for failing her. And failed her he had. He had left her alone during a crucial time in her life and then lied to her about it. If what he had experienced upstairs had been a memory, then he had been there at the hospital while she was in labor, had been on his way to her, but had then decided otherwise. What was it Patrice had to do with it? What could have been that important? Their son's godmother? The woman Sharon was so grateful to for her role in it all? He felt cold when suddenly his eye was drawn from the fridge light to a bright little spot in the otherwise dark kitchen.

His heart sank when he found the unknown number flashing across his phone's illuminated screen. He didn't allow himself to weigh his options before he grabbed the phone and held it up to his ear.

"What the hell do you want?" he barked. „I'm not giving you any money!"

The voice on the other end was silky, like the purring of a small cat in his ear, and yet there was enough venom in it to make him shudder inwardly.

"I want you to acknowledge me. I want you to tell your wife the truth about us."

His heart sank, his stomach spasmed. In his mind, he shouldn't have owed Sharon a thing. For all he knew, she was the Wicked Witch from FID and yet he felt a wave of shame knocking him off his feet and crashing on top of him. Fighting the current that was threatening to pull him under, he gasped, his fingers clasped hard around the phone.

"Tell her what truth? There is no truth."

There was a small laugh at the other end. One that reminded him of the Sharon Raydor he knew, yet was completely different. Not teasing but cruel.

"Of course you wouldn't know, would you." The honey tones took on a teasing edge. "How convenient that you have lost your memories. Playing the devoted husband and daddy over dinner when you've been lying to her for years."

And swallowed. His throat was dry.

"About what?" he asked, even though he already knew. He needed to hear it, needed to be hit in the face with the ugliness of what he had done.

"About us, Andrew. About what we are, what we've had, what we will be."

"We had an affair?" His voice was hoarse and low, his breath ragged.

"Oh yes of course", Keisha said. "One hell of an affair."

There was nothing else he needed to hear, no more he could take. Andy ended the call and lowered the phone, his hand finding the neck of the bottle inside the still open fridge. The glass was cold and wet. Comforting. He would take a drink. Finish the bottle and then see whether there was anything else he could have.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He almost dropped the bottle, his fingers slipping, then being steadied by Sharon's hand. Her face was bare of make-up, her hair tousled, her eyes red but alert. They looked more green than usual even in the semi-darkness of the kitchen.

"How long have you been standing there?" Andy asked, fully aware of what a terrible cliche he was.

"Long enough." Sharon's eyes were veiled as she took the bottle from him, placed it back in the fridge and closed it decisively. Without looking at him again, she switched on the lights and filled the kettle with water. For a moment, neither of them spoke and Andy found himself imagining that the rushing of the water from the tap could drown out his thoughts.

Once the water had started to brew, Sharon turned back around, her arms folded protectively in front of her chest. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, found himself mute, unable to come up with one of his usual retorts.

"Keisha is troubled", Sharon said softly. "You wouldn't know because you don't remember her, but she often comes up with stories that aren't true."

The dread was still there, but the heaviness on his chest seemed to lift a little.

"Yeah?" he blinked. "So you think she might have made it all up? The affair and all?"

Sharon nodded slowly. "Keisha does this all the time. You have amnesia. You're the perfect victim. She usually gets called on her lies pretty quickly."

Andy shook his head. "Why do we tolerate her then?"

"Because she is family, Andy. She isn't evil, she is mentally ill and she can't help herself." Sharon took two mugs from the shelf and placed them on the counter. She looked drained but not angry.

"So…" he hesitated, unsure of whether he could actually ask her what he wanted to ask her, then deciding that it would make no difference. "So you trust me?"

She turned around and smiled. "Of course I trust you, Andy."

So she did trust him. More so than he did himself.

"She is too young for me to have an affair with her." He laughed nervously. "But I am quite an asshole. I wouldn't put it past me."

Her reaction to his heartfelt statement surprised him. It was a humorous smirk that lit up her face and looked very sexy on her. The fire in his belly was reignited and he found himself not questioning why this other him would be with her any longer. Not physically and perhaps not emotionally as well. His ex-wife had never trusted him further than she could throw him, even before he had started drinking. He wasn't used to anyone putting their trust in him in a private capacity. He was used to being regarded as irresponsible and careless. The fact that Sharon was this firm in her belief in him touched a part inside of him that hadn't been touched in a very long time. If ever.

"Andy, I know you don't remember the past few years, but you are certainly not an asshole. An idiot at times, sure, but you are not an asshole."

Before she could stop herself, or so he assumed, she reached out her hand and cupped his cheek. He closed his eyes, reveling in the soft touch.

"I keep thinking of how terrible it is for me to have lost the man I've been with those past few years, but I guess I should also consider how hard it must be for you."

He opened his eyes, surprised. "For me?"

"For all you know, you have woken up in a parallel universe where you are married to a woman you hate. That can't be easy on you either." She gave him a sad smile and his heart swelled.

"I don't hate you", he said, never considering whether it was true. It just seemed the right thing to say.

"That's good to hear," she replied. "Thank you."

"No really," he said. "You are extraordinary, Sharon. I don't think I've ever been trusted that much by anyone."

"Even yourself," she said softly. "I'll talk to Patrice about Keisha's call, okay? She usually gets her to stop when she is doing this."

Andy thought of Patrice in the hospital corridor, calling him back from the door of the delivery room. He thought of the text messages he had received that hinted at some sort of secret Keisha was keeping for him. If it was not an affair, which he still wasn't wholly convinced it wasn't, it was something else. Something Sharon didn't know about. Whatever secret was buried in the past, he found himself suddenly eager to shield her from it. For her own good and to make sure that her trust in him did not get shattered. There was something very comforting about knowing that she was always on his side and he wanted to hold on to that.

"I'll talk to Patrice myself," he told her. "Now let's go to bed," he added softly, turning off the stove and gently putting an arm around her hips. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the silky fabric.

She looked up at him with longing in her eyes.

"You're right. I guess we should get some sleep."

They climbed the stairs and walked along the corridor together, pausing in front of Paddy's door. Their son was sleeping peacefully, his breaths deep and regular. In the soft light of the night light he looked like an angel.

They exchanged a smile that was awkward but held the echo of a forgotten intimacy.

"Good night," Sharon said.

"Good night," he replied. "And thank you for keeping me from having that wine. That would have been a mistake." Before he could decide that it was the wrong thing to do, he leaned into her and softly kissed her cheek. When he drew back, he saw that she had blushed. Without another word, she vanished behind the door of the guest room.

"You and Keisha?" Provenza snorted. „That hit over the head must be been much harder than we all thought."

It felt good to be mocked by Provenza. Familiar. Comforting.

"That's what she said," he said sourly. "It's not as if I could prove you otherwise."

The old man rolled his eyes and pulled at his hat. "Look, if I weren't on my way to a crime scene, I'd tell you in detail why I think that this is total bullshit. However, since our fearless leader is currently on sick leave because he can't remember a damn thing, I am incident commander."

Andy was still surprised every time someone referred to him as the boss of Major Crimes. It still seemed too outlandish to be true.

"How did that come about anyway?" he blurted out. "Who in their right mind would put me in charge of anything other than the office christmas party?"

Provenza downed the rest of his take away coffee in one go, his eye on the car clock. "Yeah, that's what half of the LAPD thought, too. The half that didn't see you with Sharon."

It was still weird to have Provenza refer to her by her given name. He seemed to hold a certain adoration for her that Andy had never seen in him, not even for any of his numerous ex-wives. If not for Patrice, he would have expected Provenza to have fallen hard for their former nemesis. The mere thought of that made him feel jealous, which in turn made him feel ridiculous and slightly anxious. What had become of him?

"Sharon," he said. "Do you remember what it was that kept me from being with her when Paddy was born?"

"Funny you'd ask me that," Provenza said. "Back then I kept nagging you about it. I mean, she wasn't even close to her due date, but how can you put your phone on silent when you have a pregnant wife at home? High-risk and all." He rolled his eyes.

Andy's heart sank. Whatever the big secret was, Provenza wasn't in on it. "Sharon said it was a case, but what exactly it was didn't seem important to her at the time."

Provenza snorted again, but didn't interrupt Andy.

"If it was a case, wouldn't you have been there as well?"

"I was out of town," Provenza said. "One of my useless grandkids got into trouble and I had to drive up to San Francisco to get them out of it."

"Ah," Andy said, disappointed and worried at the same time. If Provenza didn't know, then how bad was it? How and why would he keep a secret between Provenza's girlfriend, her granddaughter and himself? Did he have that affair after all and why would Patrice still speak to him if it was the case? Could he trust Patrice? He certainly couldn't trust Keisha, that much he knew for sure.

"Now get out of the car and get your head checked. Sharon's gonna pick you up later," Provenza said, cruelly reveling in the fact that he was treating his old friend like a kid he was parenting along with Sharon.

"Yeah," Andy groused. "As if there was anything new the doctors could tell me."

Getting out of the car, he realized that he had to talk to Patrice, had to get to the bottom of this. And he had to regain his memories in order to find out if what he was suspecting was true: He had a lot to fight for. If there was a big secret, and there certainly was, he had to find out what it was and whether there was any way to clean it up. He owed as much to Sharon.

And that statement alone was enough to make him question his sanity.


End file.
